Frodo the retriever dashed back and forth in the park as his owner threw the stick. Frodo retrieved the saliva-coated, tooth-indented stick, dropping it at his owner’s feet, panting, only to chase after another weak throw. His owner, Al, never had a good arm, even as a Little Leaguer years before when playing shortstop for a team called The Newtown Bluebirds. The oaks and elms were familiar with the dog. Al again threw the stick end-over-end for a few misdirected yards. Following its erratic course until it struck the ground, Frodo wondered whether being man’s best friend was really worth it.
By David Sydney